


sweet dreams be yours, dear

by larkgrace



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: LIVERPEPPER, M/M, gotta love that insomnia feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkgrace/pseuds/larkgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insomnia (n.): habitual sleeplessness; inability to sleep.</p><p>Five times Cloud's family kept him company when he couldn't sleep, and one time it was the other way around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet dreams be yours, dear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yourhandiheld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourhandiheld/gifts).



> this is set in jay yourhandiheld's super super cute [liverpepper](http://liverpepper.tumblr.com) universe! i've spent the last few nights having cage matches with the insomnia monster, and i was also feeling crappy in general, so i read through the liverpepper blog again and remembered that cloud also has insomnia. since i'm kind of hitting a wall on my other fic project right now, this just sort of...happened. also, i've never written one of these 5+1 things and wanted to try my hand at it.
> 
> liverpepper is adorable and helped me through a really rough time last semester, so i highly suggest you all check it out!
> 
> title is from "goodnight my someone" from the music man.
> 
> EDIT: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA JAY, THE LIVERMAMA HERSELF, DREW [THE MOST GORGEOUS ART](http://liverpepper.tumblr.com/post/143820956646/sweet-dreams-be-yours-dear-larkgrace-kingdom) FOR THIS FIC, PLEASE GO CHECK IT OUT!!! I HAD TO LAY ON THE FLOOR AND CRY

Cloud wakes as he always does: an uncomfortable return to the world of the living like being dragged from the bottom of a lake, feeling more tired than he was when he finally managed to sleep. His eyelids feel heavy and crusted when he blinks, and his brain feels… _greasy_ is probably a bad word, but it’s the only way he can think of to sum up the slick fugue of exhaustion that never really leaves, but always hangs thick over him right after a nap.

He rubs a hand over his eyelids to remove the worst of the gunk, tries to roll over, and promptly tangles his legs up in a mess of too-warm fabric that makes a loud _zipping_ noise against the bottom of the tent.

He almost forgot. It’s Zack’s annual end-of-school camping trip, which means the usual insomnia comes with a bonus helping of bug bites and twigs poking him through the sleeping bag.

Carefully, he removes his head from its spot buried under his pillow. Squall is still sleeping like the dead, his sleeping bag shoved halfway down his hips and, from what Cloud can see, his hair sticking to the back of his neck with sweat. His shoulders rise and fall with the slowness of deep sleep that Cloud’s vaguely envied for a while, punctuated by the occasional snuffle. _Not a snore,_ Squall would say, if he was awake. _I don’t snore._

And then Yuffie would argue with him, and Aerith would pipe up, and it would dissolve into one of those sibling bicker-fests that always leave Cloud feeling vaguely dizzy and he just wants to _sleep,_ merciful Shiva. He sighs and stuffs his head back under the pillow, possibly with enough force to be called petulant. He doesn’t care.

Cloud twitches when he feels a tap on his shoulder and extracts his head from the pillow-cave to look to his other side. Zack is leaning up on his elbow, wide awake. He tilts his head toward the flap of the tent and mouths _Outside?_ Cloud nods, and Zack sits up and reaches for his sneakers.

It’s a challenge escaping sleeping bags and putting on shoes in a two-person tent without waking the third occupant, but they manage somehow and crawl out into the night. It’s far enough past midnight that Cloud’s fingers are damp with dew when he turns to zip the tent flap shut behind him. Zack clambers to his feet, brushes his hands off on his pajama pants, and he and Cloud tiptoe past the girls’ tent. (For all that Yuffie rags mercilessly on Squall about his alleged snoring, Cloud can hear her own chainsaw impression from several feet away.)

Zack steers them toward the lakeshore. It’s a nice view, with the mist hanging low over the water and the moonlight turning everything hazy, and it’s even better when Cloud thinks to snag a jacket off the back of a chair as he passes and ward off the night chill. (It’s too big to be his, but it doesn’t hang to his knees, so it’s probably Squall’s. Cloud shrugs it on anyway.)

“Couldn’t sleep?” Cloud asks once they’re far enough from the tents. He bunches the jacket sleeves around his fists and crosses his arms.

“Nah,” Zack says easily, and hops over a rabbit hole. “I forgot to take my meds.”

“Opposite problem,” Cloud grumbles. Zack slings a sympathetic arm over his shoulder. “Didn’t Aerith remind you?”

“Yeah, but then I got distracted ‘cause Tifa was doing that thing with the sparklers and I never got around to it.”

Cloud yawns. Zack lifts his hand from Cloud’s shoulder to ruffle Cloud’s hair. They stumble along the lakeshore for another few yards, listening to the insects chirping in the trees and the water lapping against the rocks and the fish splashing out too far for Cloud to see.

Finally, Cloud’s legs feel too heavy for him to keep walking, and he eases out from under Zack’s arm and sits in the dirt. Zack doesn’t comment; instead, he leaps out to a low group of rocks in the shallows in front of Cloud and picks his way over them in a balancing act.

“You’re gonna fall in,” Cloud says.

“No I won’t.”

“I’ll laugh at you when you do.”

“I won’t fall, Cloud!”

“You’ll fall and twist your ankle and get soaking wet and wake everyone up and I’ll laugh at you.”

Zack twirls on his rock to wink at Cloud. “If I do twist my ankle, will you kiss it better?”

Cloud groans and presses his face against his knees. “That was _one_ time, and you were drunk, and I was drunk, and I thought we collectively agreed that nothing that took place after ten that night ever actually happened.”

Zack laughs, a booming honey-thunder rumble that would sound ridiculous coming from anyone else. Cloud shushes him halfheartedly, even though they’re probably far enough from the tents not to risk waking the other campers. “Yeah, but if Aerith still gets to bring up how cute you were when she got you into one of her dresses, I still get this.” He hops back across the rocks and onto dry land, bending down to pick up a handful of pebbles.

“How come everyone makes fun of me and nobody ever brings up Tifa’s cowgirl getup she put on?” Cloud grumbles.

“Tifa’d wear that thing sober,” Zack says. He tosses a rock into the lake, not even attempting to skip it, and waits to hear the distant _plink._ “She actually has a sense of adventure. Also you’re cute when you blush.”

“I’m not blushing,” Cloud says, and ignores his ears heating up in direct contradiction to his words.

“So what about Squall, huh?” Zack says, and rounds on Cloud again with that gleeful grin that should definitely send Cloud running for the hills but somehow never does. “Would you kiss him better?”

Cloud groans and pulls the jacket hood up over his head. “I’m going back to bed.”

“That’s not a no!” Zack crows. “C’mon, Spike. You guys are just adorable.”

“Goodnight, Zack.”

“Wait,” Zack says, and lunges forward to grab Cloud’s arm when he stands. “I’ll cut it out. Come on, if we go back now we’re both just going to be laying there for hours being miserable. Let’s go for a walk.” Zack tugs Cloud’s hood back off his head. “If we make it to the convenience store down the road I’ll buy donuts for breakfast.”

“You have money?” Cloud asks, and brushes off the back of his pajama pants.

Zack sticks his hand in his sweatpants pocket and pulls out a crumpled five. “Aha!”

“Okay.” Cloud zips up his jacket, and he and Zack wander toward the road, Zack’s arm around Cloud’s shoulders once again.

When they finally make it back to the tent in the predawn hours, Zack is dragging his feet and Cloud feels worn out enough that his eyes are drooping. They both flop across their sleeping bags, Cloud toes off his shoes, and slowly a gray haze creeps over his vision that gives way to dreamless sleep.

He wakes up too warm, and it’s then he remembers Squall’s jacket, still bundled around him. Squall’s sleeping bag is abandoned, as is Zack’s, and when Cloud crawls out into the morning sun Squall looks up from his chair and offers a small smile.

*

Squall’s couch is uncomfortable, and the throw pillow that Cloud is half-trying to suffocate himself with is embroidered and makes his face itch, but it doesn’t matter. Cloud can’t go home until morning, and he’s _not_ going to lay down in Squall’s room, because he doesn’t want to see Squall right now. Cloud is already on his last shred of patience and if Squall so much as breathes like he’s looking to start one of his lone-wolf insufferable asshole I-don’t-need-your-help rants Cloud might yell, and then the twins would wake up, and then Cloud would be even more miserable. The couch is fine.

Although the baby monitor on the coffee table—wrenched forcibly from Squall’s hand when Cloud snapped at him to shut up and lay down before he passed out, but using more words not appropriate for the tiny ears across the hall—chooses that moment to start crackling with the sounds of whimpering infant. Cloud heaves a sigh and sits up. Even if he can’t sleep, his body aches from exhaustion, and he just wants to rest, but Squall will actually work himself to death if he catches wind that one of the boys is up, and then Cloud will be forced to hunt him down in the afterlife and kill him again.

The whimpering one turns out to be Roxas. Cloud picks him up and does a cursory check—no bumps or bruises, no smells or other apparent bodily fluids, and there are still a few hours before he and Sora are supposed to be fed again. Cloud’s suspicion is confirmed when Roxas whines and makes grabby motions as soon as Cloud tries to set him down.

“Shh, okay, I get it,” Cloud whispers, and beats a hasty retreat before Roxas can wake his twin up. Once the door is safely shut, Cloud carries Roxas down to the office-slash-storage room, which is filled with boxes Squall hasn’t had the energy to unpack and also happens to be farthest from the house’s sleeping occupants. On the way, Cloud snags the monitor from the coffee table and drops it into his hoodie pocket.

“You’re a fussy one, huh?” Cloud asks once they’re safely out of Squall’s bat-like hearing range. “It’s okay. I get it. Going to sleep is hard.” He eases down into the rocking chair abandoned in one corner—a rickety hand-me-down from a garage sale, and the seat will probably make Cloud’s butt go numb, but whatever. He pulls one foot up onto the edge of the seat, supporting his arm on his own thigh so he won’t tire as quickly, and uses the other foot to gently rock the chair back and forth. Roxas settles down a little and settles for pouting up at Cloud.

“What?” Cloud says. “You don’t need to do that.” Roxas, of course, doesn’t respond, just keeps making his tiny unhappy face. Cloud makes a face back—sometimes he can make the boys giggle with that one—but Roxas still doesn’t seem thrilled. Cloud sighs and reaches for a towel folded on top of a nearby box, wondering if Roxas does need to make some kind of baby mess after all.

Roxas makes his little grabby fists again when Cloud’s hand passes over his face. Cloud pauses, then gently lowers his hand into Roxas’s range. Roxas latches onto two of Cloud’s fingers with his hand—which, Cloud has noticed, shares the magically universal baby-hand property of somehow feeling cold and wet even when it’s not—and sighs contentedly. Cloud wiggles his hand back and forth a little. Roxas’s arms wave side to side, his grip firm. He doesn’t seem to want to do anything besides hold onto Cloud. “Okay, kiddo,” Cloud says. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Cloud keeps rocking while Roxas explores his hand with the wide-eyed amazement only an infant can manage. He gets a few scratches for his trouble—someone who will probably be Aerith will need to trim the twins’ nails soon—but otherwise it’s one of the more relaxing nights Cloud has had in this house.

Soon enough Roxas seems to wear himself out. His grip on Cloud’s hand loosens, and he yawns, spilling a little drool down his cheek. Cloud carefully extracts his fingers from Roxas’s grip to wipe the spit away with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Cloud says, and stands. Roxas screws up his face again at the sudden movement, and Cloud shifts his weight back and forth until he’s calm. “Shh. Thanks for the company, but maybe it’s better to hang out during the day. Don’t want to wake your dad up.”

Roxas just yawns. Cloud carries him back down the hall and sets him in his crib. He has to stand there a minute and let Roxas hold his hand again until he falls totally asleep, but that’s fine. He takes the opportunity to check up on Sora, who is sleeping…well, like a baby, but like a baby who will probably sleep through the night at this rate.

Roxas’s little hand flops down next to his head. Cloud creeps back down to the couch and his living room vigil.

*

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

Tifa offers Cloud her second Solo cup when she sits with him—non-alcoholic, of course, as all the drinks are tonight, since it’s left over from Cloud’s party. Cloud think it’s probably ginger ale. He takes an obligatory sip and sets it aside.

“No,” he whispers, mindful of Zack sleeping on the couch just inside. They’ve got the house to themselves tonight; Yuffie and Aerith dragged Squall off to a hotel and Cid is babysitting the boys. The backyard is tiny, but the fresh air is still nice after being inside all afternoon.

“Good,” Tifa whispers back. “Because otherwise I’d have to hit you. You two’ve practically been married since college.”

“I know,” Cloud says. It’s true, kind of. Rings won’t change much at this point.

Tifa knocks their shoulders together. “Come on. Try to get some rest.”

 _It’s not that easy,_ he doesn’t say, because Tifa already knows. He just hits her with his shoulder in return and they pick themselves up off the grass to wander back inside. They dump their drinks down the kitchen sink and their plastic cups in the trash and wander down to Cloud’s room. She falls backwards onto the mattress with a sigh while Cloud drops face-first into his own pillow. He’s not nervous, not at all, but his limbs still hum with restless energy telling him to get up and do something. Take out the trash. Make sure the counters are clean. Something. His mind helpfully brings up a checklist of menial tasks, none of which need to be done tonight but all of which spin behind his eyelids.

Tifa rolls to her side and places a reassuring palm between Cloud’s shoulder blades. “Zack’s still mad that you guys aren’t having a proper reception,” she says, in her low, chocolate-smooth Mom Voice. Cloud hasn’t been on the receiving end of Tifa’s Mom Voice since he and Squall had that awful fight that had sent Cloud stomping to her apartment to sulk, but that had been her angry mom voice. He thinks the last time he heart _this_ one was freshman year of university, probably. It’s nice. “I think he’s going to find a way to give an embarrassing best man speech for you anyway.”

Cloud sighs into the pillow. “If he starts digging up any stories not appropriate for toddlers to hear, punch him for me.”

“Mm-hmm.” She rubs her hand up and down his spine a little. “I think he’s keeping it PG this time. He was looking for pictures of you in that awful beanie you insisted on wearing during high school.”

“Wonderful. I looked like a jackass.”

“You were a little bit of a jackass, so it’s okay,” she says. He snorts. “Do you want me to keep talking?”

He peers up at her. She’s brought out the Mom Look to go with the Mom Voice, all soft smiles and crinkled eyes. He nods.

She rubs his back and retells stories from their childhood—most of them, thankfully, not embarrassing—while he drifts off to sleep.

*

Cloud tries not to stay in bed when his medication keeps him awake. Even if he’s not up to actually doing anything to pass the time, Squall will inevitably wake up, too—Cloud thinks it’s probably the same Spidey sense nonsense that used to have Squall sitting up a half-second before one of the infant twins would start crying, even if Cloud was already with them.

Cloud rolls out of bed as silently as he can, and whispers, “Shh, go back to sleep” when Squall immediately grumbles and half-reaches in Cloud’s direction. It’s enough to reassure Squall in his mostly-unconscious state, who sighs and nestles back into the sheets. Cloud stands still a moment to make sure Squall doesn’t move again, then tiptoes out into the hall and carefully shuts the door behind him.

Across the hall, the door to the twins’ room is cracked open, just as it always is—Sora doesn’t like to sleep in total darkness but Roxas is bothered by night lights, so the dim lamplight filtering down from the living room is a nice compromise. Cloud takes a moment to check that both boys are curled up in their beds (and haven’t fallen to the floor, a particular habit of Sora’s) before continuing down the hall.

There are a handful of books sitting on the end table in the living room—one of Squall’s dog-eared biographies, two slender storybooks for the kids—but Cloud ignores them in favor of the deck of cards sitting on the coffee table. He sits on the floor and deals out a Solitaire hand for himself, working by the lamplight, no sound but the whisper of the cards against each other and the whistling wind outside. It’s a little lonely, but Cloud tries not to mind too much. He’s used to it.

He’s got three Aces down and is puzzling over the best place to move the seven of hearts when he hears small child footsteps pattering down the hall. “Pa?” Sora squeaks, peeking in from the doorway, hair in fantastic disarray.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Cloud whispers, and leans forward to better see around the couch. “Need something?”

Sora says, “Nuh-uh. I’m just ‘cited for tomorrow!” He beams and totters further into the room, dragging his stuffed Pooh Bear behind him. “So I kept wakin’ up.”

Cloud snorts. Sora, being five, understands birthdays mostly as cake and wrapping paper and visits from all his aunts and uncles, regardless of whose birthday it actually is. Then again, Cloud muses, even if Sora did internalize that tomorrow (today, Cloud corrects himself, catching sight of the blinking red numbers on the VCR) wasn’t _his_ birthday, he’d probably still be just as excited. It’s a very Sora thing to be.

“Did you lay still for a while before you got up?” Cloud asks. It’s a family rule for holidays, instituted after the first Christmas where Sora and Roxas woke Leon and Cloud up at midnight to open presents: lay in bed until the first number on the alarm clock changes, _then_ go wake up Pa and Dad.

“Yuh-huh,” Sora says, and nods for emphasis. “But I couldn’t sleep.”

“Okay.” Cloud pats his knee. “You can stay with me for a little bit, and then how ‘bout you try going back to bed?”

Sora nods and crawls right into Cloud’s lap, setting Pooh Bear off to the side. Cloud goes back to his game, moves the seven, then sighs when he flips over the five of spades, which is not at all helpful.

“Pa?” Sora asks, and tugs on Cloud’s sleeve. “Are you awake ‘cause of your vitamins?”

Cloud rests a hand on Sora’s head. The twins are still too young to fully grasp the difference between their gummy vitamins and Cloud’s materia, but they know that Cloud’s “vitamins” make it hard for him to sleep most nights. “Yeah,” Cloud sighs. “It’s the vitamins.”

Sora squirms out of Cloud’s lap and trots toward the kitchen. “Where you going, squirt?” Cloud asks, leaning forward.

Sora turns and makes a dramatic shushing gesture. “It’s a surprise,” he says, and disappears through the door. Then, a second later, he peeks back in. “I can’t reach the lights,” he says, pouting.

Cloud stands to turn on the kitchen light. Sora beams and shoves Cloud’s leg, repeating, “It’s a _surprise!”_ until Cloud leaves to sit in front of the coffee table again.

Cloud can’t actually see Sora, but he hears one of the lower cabinets opening, the rattle of hard plastic against the tile floor, and then the squealing noise of the stepstool being dragged around. The refrigerator door opens, and Cloud watches as Sora’s small hands wrap around the milk jug’s handle. There’s a loud _thunk_ when both hands and jug disappear out of the bottom of Cloud’s field of vision with alarming speed, blocked by the kitchen island, but it sounds like Sora’s okay, so Cloud doesn’t risk his child wrath by investigating.

After another minute of shuffling, Sora stands in the kitchen doorway, holding his favorite Mickey Mouse cup in both hands and pouting again. “I’m not s’posed to use the microwave,” he says. “Can you help?”

Cloud smiles, and the warm feeling that creeps through his chest cavity makes him huff a quiet laugh. “Sure,” he says, and guides Sora back into the kitchen. He relocates Sora’s cup of milk into a microwave-safe mug, first, then sets it to warm; after replacing the milk jug in the fridge—Cloud is impressed that Sora managed not to spill any—he gives Sora a boost to sit up on the island countertop.

“You an’ Dad always make it for me an’ Roxas when we have bad dreams,” Sora says, kicking his feet out in the air. “Warm milk makes you sleepy, right?”

“It does,” Cloud says, keeps the _normally_ to himself, and stops the microwave a second before it can start its obnoxious beeping. He helps Sora back down to ground level and the two of them make their way back to the couch, steaming mug in Cloud’s hand. Cloud sits at one end of the couch and Sora crawls up next to him, after rescuing his stuffed Pooh from the floor.

“Are you gonna drink it?” Sora asks, bouncing in his seat a little.

“It’s too hot right now,” Cloud says, and blows gently on the mug for emphasis. “Let it sit for a minute.”

“I’ll help!” Sora chirps. He scrambles up to his knees and puffs a deep breath over the top of the mug, sending tendrils of steam blowing away. After another minute, Cloud takes a sip; the milk seems to send warmth spreading through his whole chest, and he sighs.

“Thank you, Sora,” he says. “This was very nice of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sora says, and crawls into Cloud’s lap again. This time he reaches for one of the storybooks on the table and flips it open. He mumbles to himself, tracing one small finger over each word as he sounds it out while Cloud drains half the mug.

“Here, share with me,” Cloud says, once it’s cooled a bit more. Sora takes the mug in both hands and sips away happily, careful not to spill on his pajamas. Cloud holds the book up for Sora to keep reading. They pass the mug back and forth until Cloud is draining the last dregs and Sora is listing sideways, yawning as he sounds his way through the second-to-last page of his book. Cloud drags the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over both of them one-handed. He keeps the other hand on the storybook so it doesn’t crash to the floor when Sora finally nods off.

Cloud waits a few minutes until Sora really does seem to be asleep, then sets aside the book and gently frees them both from the blanket. He leaves the empty mug on the table—he can clean it in the morning—scoops Sora up, and carries him back to the kids’ room, the Pooh plush dangling by one felted arm caught between Cloud’s fingers. Sora automatically clutches at his blankets when Cloud deposits him back in bed. Cloud sets the plush next to the wall, takes a second to make sure he hasn’t disturbed Roxas, and creeps out.

Squall lifts his head and squints (first at the glowing alarm clock, then at the door) when Cloud makes his way back into their room. “Go to bed,” he grumbles, probably on autopilot, and flops back down.

“I’m going,” Cloud whispers. “Jerk.” He crawls under the sheet and presses his toes against Squall’s shins, grinning when Squall immediately wrinkles his nose. Squall reaches out blindly until his hand finds Cloud’s shoulder and drags Cloud forward until his face is pressed into Squall’s chest.

“Happy birthday,” Squall mumbles. He cards his fingers idly through Cloud’s hair. “Shut up and sleep.”

*

When Cloud rolls out of bed, Squall sits up and rubs his eyes. “You can go back to sleep,” Cloud says, and shrugs on a sweater. “I’ll be fine.”

“I could also not do that,” Squall says, and kicks off the covers.

Cloud rolls his eyes, but Squall gets to his feet and wraps his arm tight around Cloud. Together they make their way down to the living room, where Squall seems to lose steam and flops onto the sofa. Cloud curls up next to him and leans his head on Squall’s shoulder. Squall turns on the television, muted, to whatever movie Roxas was watching before Sora called him down to help him with a video thing. Cloud tangles his fingers with Squall’s.

“We should go do something next weekend,” Squall says. On the screen, a man in half-melted makeup falls through a ceiling and dangles by a rope tied to one ankle, apparently unconscious. Cloud wonders if this is one of those things that would make Roxas adopt his pissy teen voice and say _yeesh, Cloud, it’s_ art, _you don’t have to understand it._ Maybe it’s just a really stupid movie. Maybe Cloud feels a little stupid right now.

He tucks himself closer to Squall’s side. “Do what? Like a date?”

“Sure.” Squall squeezes Cloud’s fingers. In the movie, a short guy in a dress and wielding a walking stick bursts through the door and starts gesturing to the unconscious man, still dangling above the chunks of plaster from where he fell through the ceiling.

“Since when do you ask me out on dates?” Cloud asks. He squeezes back.

“Are you that surprised? I actually like doing stuff with you, believe it or not.”

“You’re just so boring,” Cloud says, and receives a flick on the side of his head for his trouble. “Where would we go for this date?”

Squall shrugs, shifting Cloud’s head a little. The little man in the dress is in a different room, with the guy whose ceiling was crashed through; the two of them are posed in front of a painted mountain backdrop, apparently singing, and a shoddy-looking lamp sends of sparks in the corner. “Dinner?” Squall suggests.

“Boring,” Cloud repeats. He nudges Squall’s shoulder with his forehead, a soft bump of _I’m teasing._ “That sounds nice.”

Squall yawns. Cloud gropes for the blanket bundled at the other end of the couch and drags it toward them, lets Squall wrap the two of them up in a cocoon of fabric.

Cloud doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until a soft _clink_ from the kitchen wakes him up. He blinks. The movie’s menu is running on repeat, Squall has his head tilted back and is sleeping soundly, his fingers still entwined with Cloud’s, and Sora is standing in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal and a sheepish expression.

“Sorry,” he hisses. “I didn’t want to wake you up!”

“It’s fine,” Cloud says, and wrestles his hand free of the blanket to rub his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine,” Sora says. “Is it okay if I go out soon? Riku and Kairi wanted to go skating.”

“Fine by me,” Cloud says. “You have all your homework done for tomorrow?”

“Yep!” Sora says, and beams.

Squall groans and sits up. He still has his eyes closed as he unleashes a jaw-cracking yawn and blindly runs his hand through Cloud’s hair, his silent _good morning._ Then he drags himself off the couch and stumbles down the hall, presumably to the bathroom, all without saying a word. Squall usually isn’t verbal until he gets a cup of coffee in him anyway.

“Hope you slept well!” Sora chirps, then deposits his bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. He bounds down the hall after Squall, either to get dressed or shake Roxas awake or both.

Cloud stretches his arms above his head for a long moment, then stands. Breakfast sounds good. Maybe a bagel. He can toast one for Squall, too; they’re his favorite.

+

When Cloud reaches in his half-asleep fog for Squall and finds nothing but empty mattress, he groans and sits up. The bedroom is empty, aside from himself, and the door is open, revealing light filtering down the hall.

Squall is standing in the kitchen, a glass of water on the island and his eyes squeezed shut tight. His fists are pressed against the countertop. His arms tremble.

Cloud wraps his arms around Squall’s waist and presses his face against his shoulder. Squall slumps a little. His voice sounds thick when he says, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Cloud tilts his head and presses a gentle kiss to the base of Squall’s neck. “I love you.”

Squall raises one hand to rest it over Cloud’s.

“How can I help?” Cloud asks, his lips still brushing Squall’s skin.

“Stay,” Squall says. His voice cracks a little. “Please.”

Cloud nods. He stays.

**Author's Note:**

> +zack hasn't shown up much in liverpepper (or kh, for that matter), so i fleshed him out with my own headcanons; i.e. he's the friendly neighborhood bisexual with adhd. the incident he refers to with cloud wearing one of aerith's dresses is based on ff7 canon, where aerith actually does get cloud into a dress, although it's not hers, and he's sober. (liverpepper cloud would probably be cool with it too, were he not going through his shitty i'm-fifteen-and-too-cool-for-this phase during the first scene.) tifa's "cowgirl getup" is a reference to her crisis core outfit.
> 
> +psa: don't drink while on prescription medicines. it is a seriously bad idea. the drunken shenanigans took place before cloud started his materia, at least in my mind, since i don't actually know the details of it in liverpepper.
> 
> +"that awful beanie" that tifa says cloud wore in high school is a nod to the fact that even zack makes fun of him for _always_ wearing his helmet in crisis core. what a nerd.
> 
> +the movie squall and cloud have on mute is _moulin rouge._ it's one of my favorite movies of all time, exactly the kind of pretentious artsy thing that drama-club-member roxas would watch, and it's completely ridiculous. now i kind of want to watch it on mute myself, but i also know most of the lines by heart, so it might not be as fun.
> 
> i hope you all enjoyed! i don't use tumblr for social stuff much anymore but catch me screaming on twitter [@trustyrpartner](http://twitter.com/trustyrpartner)


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